


Anarchitect

by Kaneko



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-14
Updated: 2005-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaneko/pseuds/Kaneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris woke up one morning in the middle of the hiatus, and realized that Lance deserved a normal life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anarchitect

**Author's Note:**

> Heaps of thanks to Cesca, Gear, Giddy, and Merry for making this so much better than it was. This story was written for k8, for the DWNOGA Secret Santa thingie. Merry Christmas, k8!

Chris woke up one morning in the middle of the hiatus, and realized that Lance deserved a normal life.

Well, obviously it wasn't quite like that. Chris made himself some eggs first, and then he played a little Halo. But at some point between killing the sniper guys and raiding the underground lab, it occurred to Chris that Lance Bass had not been born a freak. He'd had freakishness thrust upon him.

He phoned Justin about it over lunch. "He's a picket fence kind of guy," Chris explained through a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. "He should have a mortgage or something. Kids."

"Kids?" Justin said. He sounded distracted, and Chris could hear the tinny sound of Halo gunfire and Trace's raised voice in the background. "What?"

"Like, he should be in college. Renting an apartment and taking a bus to campus."

"Oh you _fuck_!" Justin said suddenly, making Chris yelp in fright. He started to turn the yelp into a cough, but it didn't matter because Justin wasn't listening. The phone went muffled while Justin yelled at Trace that there was no _way_ he'd made it out of the lab by himself, and Justin was going to kick his ass from here to Albuquerque as soon as he got off the phone. At least, Chris was pretty sure he'd said that. It was either that or Justin was going to kick Trace's ass with a turkey. Justin wasn't always very coherent when he was yelling.

Chris made another sandwich while he waited. Lance, he thought, as he buttered the bread, probably hadn't had cheap, white bread since he was seventeen. The thought almost made Chris start sniffling.

Justin jolted him out of his thoughts. "What were you saying, man?" Justin said. "Something about kids?"

"Forget the kids," Chris said sadly. "I'm saying Lance deserves a normal life."

"Why?" Justin said. "I mean, why don't I deserve a normal life? I grew up on the fuckin' Mickey Mouse Club, and you're not telling me to go have babies."

"You don't count," Chris said, waving his arm dismissively. None of the rest of them counted. They'd always been freaks. Even Joey - who looked most like a regular guy - had had a life-sized statue of Superman in his bedroom when Chris first met him. Lance though. Lance could have been normal.

"You were already in the business," Chris explained. "Lance was- He was just a normal guy. He had normal _hair_."

"I had normal hair!"

"Yeah?" Chris said. "How come I never saw it?"

***

Since Justin hadn't outright called him a crackhead - well anyway, since he hadn't used that exact word - Chris decided to go ahead and form a plan.

He played some more Halo, went for a round of golf, did two loads of laundry, and ate a Quarter Pounder and fries. At the end of it all he was still planless.

Step one, he decided. Phone Joey, and make him form a plan.

Joey took nearly five minutes to answer the phone, and he was grumpier about it than Chris had expected, snapping "You do realize it's after midnight?" as soon as he picked up.

"Are you getting laid, Fatone?" Chris said gleefully. "'Cause I can-"

"Chris. No," Joey said. And if anything, he sounded even grumpier. "I was asleep. It's after midnight, and I was asleep."

Chris rolled his eyes. "What are you, your mom? I need help here."

"Oh hey," Joey said, sounding much more concerned. "Hey, Chris."

Chris waved his hand impatiently. "_Lance_ needs help," he said. "Did you ever think about what we did when we plucked him out of obscurity?"

Joey groaned. "Made him richer than he could've imagined?"

"You might think so, but- Oh hey. When was the last time you ate some of that really good, cheap bread? The kind that turns into paste when you chew it?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "I couldn't say," Joey said at last. He sounded like he was talking from between clenched teeth.

"Right!" Chris said triumphantly. "I bet it's been a long time for Lance too!"

"Okay," Joey said quietly. "Seriously, Chris. It's way after midnight."

"I need to show him what he's missing out on. I was thinking I could take him to a college campus or something. But then I thought maybe he'd get mobbed, and that would totally defeat the purpose."

"Like-" There was a rustling sound. "Like 26 _minutes_ after midnight."

"Focus," Chris said. "Focus on Lance. He needs our help."

There was more rustling on Joey's end of the line, and a quiet "Give me the phone." Chris distinctly heard Joey snicker.

"Hello?" Chris said.

"Christopher." It was Kelly.

"Hey Kel," Chris said, suddenly feeling uneasy. "What's up?"

"Do you know how much sleep we've had in the last week?"

"Well-" Chris said.

"Twelve hours. That's twelve hours over six days, Chris. And do you know what I'm going to do if you call here again after we finally get Briahna to bed?"

"I don't-"

"I'm going to personally cut off your balls and wear them around my neck on a string."

"Oh."

"Okay?"

Chris swallowed. "Okay. I- okay."

"Okay," Kelly said. "And hey, give my love to your mom."

***

He didn't need Joey to make a plan, Chris thought when he'd finished shaking. He didn't need a plan at all. He'd been instrumental in creating the biggest pop group on earth. Plans were for lesser men.

He went looking for a suitcase and then realized he didn't have time for luxuries like packing. Joey could be phoning Lance even now to warn him Chris was coming. Joey was very vengeful and sneaky like that. Chris had taught him well.

Anyway, Chris reasoned, Lance always had spare shirts and toothbrushes and pretty much anything you might need. Actually, Chris suspected he'd built an entire Wal-Mart in his basement. After an apocalypse, everyone else could be eating weeds and cockroaches, and Lance would still be wearing cotton shirts, and washing his hair with Sunsilk 2 in 1. Chris found it a weirdly comforting thought.

He threw a box of Apple Jacks into the car, and stopped just once along the way to get some Cheetos from the gas station. Other than that, he made good time. The roads were clear, and he sang Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run' at the top of his voice; he'd always liked driving alone. Mostly, he liked being able to turn the air conditioning up without anyone whining that Chris was freezing their pathetic little nuts off. It was all about freedom of temperature, baby.

It was some time in the early morning when he arrived in Floribama. The sun was up, but the air was still cool, and Lance's front lawn was slippery with dew.

Chris let himself in, and snuck into Lance's bedroom. He expected Lance to be awake - maybe reading the paper or watching TV - but he wasn't. He was asleep on his stomach, his bedsheets just covering his lower back, and the sun shining golden on his skin.

Or at least, he seemed to be asleep; it was difficult to know with Lance because he slept with his eyes half open. Chris used to deal with this by assuming that he was always faking, but his confidence had been shaken by the time he'd talked smack about Tim McGraw for fifteen minutes before realizing that Lance was really and actually sleeping.

In any case, it was more fun to believe that Lance was asleep. It meant Chris got to wake him up.

Chris paused for a second just to enjoy the moment. Sun was streaming through the window, and Lance's face was serene and peaceful. Chris hugged himself. It was times like this that he lived for.

He slapped Lance's ass hard through the sheet. "Rise and shine, Bass!" he said gleefully.

Lance didn't jerk up and hit him, which Chris counted as a win right there. He just groaned a bit, snuffled into his pillow, looked at the clock, and finally said indistinctly, "Chris? You-I hate you."

"Yup," Chris said cheerfully. He dangled his car keys over Lance's head. "Get up, baby. I'm taking you on an adventure tour of Middle America."

"Also, I could have you killed," Lance said, squirreling his face harder against his pillow. "I'm a very powerful man."

Chris ignored him. "You've missed out on so much, Bass," he continued. "I realize that now. You're a picket fence guy confronted with the bright lights of the big city. You're Encino Man in a world you were never prepared for." He stripped the sheets off Lance's bed while he was talking.

"I seriously hate you," Lance said, trying to drag the sheets back up with his eyes closed. "Like, not just pretend 'I hate you'. I actually hate you."

"I'll make you breakfast," Chris said enticingly. He slapped Lance's hands away, and pulled the sheets out of his reach.

"Fuck." Lance was quiet for a moment. He opened one eye. "Will there be Starbucks on this tour?"

Chris thought about it. "There'll be truck-stop coffee."

"You suck, Chris."

Chris nodded. "You want poached eggs or fried?"

The eggs turned out kind of weird. Chris hid them between two slices of bread, and scattered some parsley around the edges to distract Lance from looking too closely at the middle of the plate.

"Breakfast!" he said, bringing it into Lance's room. "You should eat it like a sandwich, because-" He stopped.

"-hit his head!" Lance was saying into the phone. He looked at Chris guiltily, and Chris snatched the receiver from him. He'd thought Lance was kidding about having him killed. Well, mostly kidding.

"Hello?" Chris said suspiciously

"Hey Chris!" JC said. "How you doing?"

"I'm fine." Chris said, breathing out in relief. No sane person would choose JC as a hit man. And even if they did, Chris could totally take him - the skinny fucker. "I'm- Hey, were you talking about me behind my back?"

"Yep," JC said, and Chris could just tell he was nodding happily. "So hey, did you fall down and hit your head?"

"No!" Chris said. He glared at Lance. "I'm-" He lowered his voice. "I'm just taking him out. So he can stop being sad about the space thing. And stuff."

"He doesn't seem sad to me," JC protested.

"Well he is!" Chris said, loudly. "And I'm going to cheer him up."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Yes," Chris said, glaring at Lance harder. "Yes it is sweet."

"Okay," JC said. "Well, as long as you didn't hit your head."

***

Lance just didn't know what he was missing out on. That was his problem. He didn't understand that Chris only had his best interests at heart.

Chris had plenty of time to think about it, because Lance took a really long time to get ready. And when he finally came down, he was wearing sneakers with good pants and a shiny brown shirt.

"You're not actually going out in public like that?" Chris said, appalled. Prolonged exposure to JC had fucked with all of their fashions senses, but this would have been abnormal even for JC.

Lance's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he said. He looked down at himself. "What's wrong with this?"

Chris sighed. Maybe it was already too late, he thought. Some clothes you just didn't recover from.

"We'll call it 'Chris's Unbelievable Normality Tour'," Chris said, when he finally got Lance into the car. Lance had refused point blank to let Chris drive, so they were crawling down the road like old people.

"Fuck you hard, Chris," Lance said genially. "Because I've already named it the 'Chris Hit His Head Tour'."

"I told you, I didn't!" Chris said, irritated.

Lance waved his arm. "Whatever."

Chris rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he was the guest of doom. If anything, he was the guest of fun. He brought excitement into his friends' dull lives. Besides, his name had the cooler acronym and should therefore be made universal.

Ahead of them, the lights went orange, and Lance carefully slowed down. They could have made the lights without trying, but Lance's natural inclination to be annoying had been finely honed by hours of photo shoots and makeup and bus trips and airport changeovers, where there was nothing to do for entertainment but piss people off. Usually, it made Chris proud to know him. Usually, it was directed at someone else.

Chris started to point out that cars were for going places, and that if Chris had wanted to travel at one mile per hour, he'd have hacked off his legs and just dragged himself around with his bare hands. But Lance was already talking.

"So you woke up and decided I wasn't a pop star? What the fuck, Chris?"

"The fuck," Chris said serenely, "is that you don't know what you're missing out on. But don't worry, baby. I'm going show you the high life. Actually, more like the low life. The normal life of your average lowlife. Good old American life like you read about."

"God bless America," Lance said slowly, nodding.

"But seriously, Lance," Chris said. "I want to show you some of what you're missing out on." It was kind of hot in the car. Chris opened the window a crack. "The first stop is Safeway," he added.

It took what felt like an hour to get to Safeway. Chris counted twelve cars overtaking them, and the slower they went, the hotter he felt.

"Could we possibly get there some time before I die?" Chris said, when an old lady in a VW passed them. The back of his neck felt prickly with sweat. None of the rest of them used car air conditioners like they were supposed to. He opened the window the rest of the way.

"It's called safe driving," Lance said calmly. "I might, however, be convinced to go faster if I knew what this was all about."

"I already told you," Chris protested. He didn't know what Lance was expecting him to say. Lance's problem was that he had a nasty suspicious mind. Also, he was a paranoid freak.

Lance smiled his shark's smile at him. "Or we could keep going at this same, gentle pace."

They didn't go at that same gentle pace; they went slower. They went so slow that cars started to honk at them before overtaking, and Chris felt so hot, he thought he might die. He thought he might melt. He pictured himself arriving at Safeway as a blob. Lance would have to wipe him off the car seat. It would be gross, and it would serve him right, Chris thought viciously.

"Anywhere," he said, after Lance had circled the parking lot for the tenth time. "I don't care if we have to walk from New Mexico. Just park!"

Lance snickered - a quiet "heheheh" that made Chris grind his teeth. But he pulled into a free space.

Chris was out of the door almost before the car had stopped. He took a deep breath, ridiculously glad to be outside.

"You okay there?" Lance said dryly.

"No thanks to you," Chris snapped. He felt around in his pockets and came up with fifteen dollars and 83 cents in crumpled bills and change.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I have credit cards," he said.

"No you don't." Chris told him smugly. He was feeling better out in the open air. It was the whole car thing, he thought to himself. He hated cars. "I stole your wallet and left it on your kitchen counter."

"Oh you _fuck_," Lance said. "You _fucker_."

"Yup," Chris said happily. "Now then." He rubbed his hands together. "Safeway is where normal people buy normal food." He dropped some money into Lance's hand. "You have seven dollars to buy normal people food, Bass. Don't let me down."

***

Lance let him down. When they met up in the soda aisle, Chris had store brand nachos, a bottle of Pepsi, and a block of Velveeta. Lance proudly held out a cantaloupe, broccoli flowers, a huge bottle of vitamins, and bread.

Chris made him put all of it back - even the bread, which was the gross, nutty kind.

"It has linseed oil and extra fibre," Lance protested.

"You make me sad, Bass," Chris said.

Lance's second sweep went a little better. When Chris caught up with him in the cereal aisle, he was holding some Hershey bars and a box of Grape Nuts.

"This is kind of weird, Chris," Lance said. He picked up a box of Cocoa Krispies and examined the picture of the free trading cards that were supposed to come inside.

"It's just Rice Krispies with chocolate coating," Chris said.

"Not the cereal, moron." Lance put the box back. "You. You dragging me out here. It's weird."

"It's for your own good," Chris said. He wondered when they were all going to finally accept that Chris was just smarter and wiser and righter than all of them combined - was basically the smartest person on earth. It would save so much time and angst.

"Look, Chris." Lance sighed, and Chris knew he was about to say something brutally honest. Lance found honesty tedious. "Look," he said. "I heard what you said to JC on the phone. And frankly, it's fortunate I don't actually need cheering up, because this-" Lance waved his hand at the cereal boxes. "This wouldn't have done it. Also, I hate Velveeta. I don't think it's even cheese."

"Okay a: it _is_ cheese," Chris said, "and b: I lied to JC. It's totally not about cheering you up."

"Okay," Lance said, sounding dubious. "Well good."

"It's about touring Middle America," Chris said. He took the Grape Nuts out of Lance's hand. "Too healthy."

"I really do like Grape Nuts," Lance protested. But he sighed and picked up the Cocoa Krispies instead. "And seriously, Chris. That's pretty stupid."

"Maybe _you're_ stupid," Chris said, and Lance rolled his eyes.

The third time they met up, it was in the magazine aisle. Teen People had a picture of Lance on the cover with the headline: 'AstroNOT - Lance crashes back to earth'.

Chris had already torn up five when Lance tapped him on the shoulder. Chris jumped and gasped. "Shit!" he said. His heart was pounding like a motherfucker. "I totally thought you were security."

"We can't pay for those," Lance pointed out.

"No fucking kidding. Fuck." Chris put his hand over his heart. "I'm too old for this shit. I think I'm having a heart attack."

Lance snorted and pulled the undamaged Teen Peoples out of Chris's hands. "Since when do you care about magazines?" he said. He kicked the torn pages under a shelf.

"Since they started being rude," Chris said defensively. He'd already made a note of the author's name. People like her were bottom feeders; they made Chris sick. If Chris had his way, she'd never interview anyone again. Ever.

Lance had a strange look on his face. "I think maybe it's time for the second stop on this tour."

Chris looked at his watch and swore. The magazine-tearing had put him way behind schedule. He saw Lance open his mouth, and added hastily: "I'm driving."

***

The second stop was an apartment complex, and it was kind of a lot crappier than Chris had expected. Johnny had apparently not taken well to being woken at 2 in the morning. As soon as Chris opened the car door, a bunch of mosquitos leapt at him in delight. "Sweet, sweet nourishment," they seemed to be saying. Chris flapped at them wildly.

He heard Lance clapping his hands a couple of times, and then Chris�s wrist was grabbed mid-swipe. "They're gone," Lance said. And it was true. The mosquitos were suddenly gone.

"How did you do that?" Chris said. He looked at Lance in awe.

Lance snorted. "There was like one bug," he said.

"It was a _cloud_ of bugs," Chris said. "It was an invading _army_ of bugs."

Lance just shrugged. He'd always seemed strangely unconcerned about insects - even spiders, which were the most evil creatures known to man. Chris was still impressed though.

The realtor was already waiting for them in the foyer. She gave them both a wide, fake smile and Chris a handshake that made him squeak in pain.

"Hey there," she said. "Mr Wright said you'd be here-" she looked at her watch, "-about five minutes ago. But that's okay. I'm Jane. You must be Mr Smith and Mr Jones. And I'm sorry, but I don't have long." She hurried up the stairs without waiting for them to reply. "You'll love this place. It's a _great_ neighbourhood. Very uh, tolerant." She glanced at Chris sharply. "And it's your first apartment, right? Your friend, Johnny says you have a $400 a month budget?"

"That's right," Chris said, ignoring Lance's accusing look. "That's us. 400 a month. That's all we can afford."

"Okay, well here we are. Cosy little living room - entirely furnished. Kitchen. Uh. Single bedroom. And it's close to the university." She waved vaguely at the window. "And there's a roller disco just around the corner, which I understand is very popular with uh. Young people. And as I said. A very understanding neighbourhood. Very tolerant."

"Okay," Lance said. "Um, would you mind if we-"

"No, of course!" Jane said. She looked at her watch meaningfully. "I'll just be- I'll be right over here."

"Oh my lord, this is disgusting!" Lance hissed to Chris as soon as she was out of earshot. He lifted his arms gingerly, as though he didn't want his sleeves to touch the walls. "You're kidding me, right? What are we doing here? I mean, are you trying to make me more grateful? 'Cause believe me, I'm grateful. I am _so_ very grateful I don't live here."

"Stop being such a whiney baby," Chris said, even though the apartment was making him feel kind of sick. "This place is student heaven. Look, there's even a view." He swept the curtain aside.

"Of a fetid pond?" Lance said.

"It's a natural wetland - home to numerous native flora and fauna," Chris corrected. He slapped at another mosquito. "Besides," he added. "Everyone's first apartment sucks."

"Believe me," Lance said. He looked totally grossed out, and Chris thought if they'd bought any moist towelettes, Lance would be wiping his hands obsessively. "Believe me, this is not my first apartment. This - assuming it's actually an apartment, and not some kind of crackhouse decorated to look like an apartment - would be my fifth apartment. Only it wouldn't be. Because it's a _crackhouse_."

Chris put his hand on Lance's shoulder and pushed him towards the sofa. "Work with me," he said. He frowned and squeezed Lance's shoulder again. "Have you been working out?"

"It's called cosmonaut training," Lance said distractedly. He looked at the sofa, grimaced, folded up his jacket, and lay it down on the seat. It wasn't exactly in the spirit of working with Chris, but Chris couldn't really blame him. The sofa was weirdly sticky, and Chris really didn't want to think about why.

Chris gritted his teeth. "This is your first apartment," he told Lance. "And you wait tables, and the rest of the time, you're in class."

"_Tables_?" Lance said as though Chris had said: 'You clean toilets'.

"What? Why? You're too good for tables?"

"I just don't see how this could be a better life! I don't even see how it's normal - I mean, 400 dollar a month apartments, plastic cheese that people really want to eat - you're totally making this shit up."

Chris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Maybe if you gave it a _chance_," he said. "Or you know, the cheese at least. You could give the cheese a chance."

"The cheese is weird," Lance said loudly.

"That's the whole appeal!" Chris snapped.

They glared at each other in silence.

"Okay, well," Jane said after a moment, and Chris jumped, feeling weirdly like he'd been caught making out instead of arguing about cheese.

"Um," Chris said.

"I think we'll keep looking," Lance said.

***

"I need a break from Middle America," Lance said when they were safely in the car again.

"I need a Slurpee," Chris said, slapping at yet another mosquito.

He let Lance drive, and maybe Lance was hot too, because he drove like a normal person, and they found a 7-11 in about five minutes.

"Are there any frappuccinos?" Lance said, poking the nozzle of the Slurpee machine.

"No!" Chris snapped. "There are no frappuccinos. There's red or there's blue."

"Blue please," Lance said, which surprised Chris because blue was pretty much the Velveeta of the Slurpee family. Lance sounded amused though. Chris looked for some sign - any sign - that Lance was fucking with him. But Lance's face was perfectly innocent and composed.

"Okay then," Chris said suspiciously.

They sat in the car to drink their Slurpees. Chris sucked his, and stared out of the window. It didn't seem so hot as it had before. With the windows down and the mosquitos gone, it was really kind of nice.

He looked at Lance, and Lance seemed to be feeling the same. He grinned at Chris. His lips were a little blue.

Chris felt his stomach drop. _Oh_, he thought.

He took another sip, and glanced back. Lance's eyes were closed. Chris watched the line of his throat as he sucked and swallowed. Chris licked his own lips. Lance sucked and swallowed again, and his mouth was slowly turning blue.

"So um-" Chris said nervously. He flinched a little when Lance opened his eyes and looked at him shrewdly. "So um- what do you think?"

"About what?" Lance said.

Chris licked his lips and tasted fake raspberry and sugar. He wondered if Lance's lips would taste cold. He shrugged self-consciously. "About the apartment."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I think you fell down and hit your head."

Chris's heart sank. "Oh," he said. He stared at his Slurpee miserably.

They sat quietly for a little longer.

"You're such a fucking idiot," Lance added.

Chris jerked his head up. "What?"

Lance carefully put his cup in the cupholder. Chris watched him, and it felt surreal - the car, the heat. Lance seemed to move towards him in slow motion.

"But-" Chris said. He gasped a bit as Lance brushed his lips over Chris's mouth. "But, you hated the cheese."

Lance rolled his eyes. "You're not the cheese."

"Yeah, but-" Chris said. Then he frowned and pulled back. "You were fucking with me about the frappuccinos!"

Lance chuckled, the sound rumbling. "I love Blue Slurpees," he admitted. "And peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And warm bottles of bad domestic beer..."

"Asshole," Chris mumbled admiringly. He folded his hand around the back of Lance's neck, and pulled him down to make it a better angle. "Mm," Chris said after a while. He looked at Lance's blue lips, feeling dazed. "I um. Wait here."

He ran back into the 7-11. "Do you have bread?" he said to the guy behind the counter.

"Sure," the guy said. He waved at the bread shelf.

"No," Chris said. "Like real bread. With linseed oil and shit."

The guy gave him a weird look.

"Never mind," Chris said. "Do you have Grape Nuts?"

He nearly stumbled getting back to the car fast enough. The taste of Lance's mouth was still on his lips. "Here," he said. He passed the box to Lance through the window. "I want you to have this."

Lance looked at it dubiously, like Chris was a cat giving him a dead mouse. "Okay. Why?"

Chris poked him. "It's a token," he said. "Of my fucking affection."

"Oh," Lance said. He grinned. "Well then I love it."

The End

~~~  
_There's no space outward  
The only way is upward_

_Towards the heavens  
Towards the sky_

_Anarchitect -- Something for Kate._


End file.
